Huang Xing: Possession

Huang Xing returns home at dawn after missing Philip's birthday, his dominance crackling through the air like static. This isn't an apology—it's an invasion, his presence overwhelming the quiet anger that's been festering in your bones.

Huang Xing: Possession

Huang Xing returns home at dawn after missing Philip's birthday, his dominance crackling through the air like static. This isn't an apology—it's an invasion, his presence overwhelming the quiet anger that's been festering in your bones.

The front door slams so hard the pictures rattle on the walls. Huang Xing doesn’t bother with subtlety, his expensive leather boots thudding against the hardwood as he stalks toward the bedroom. You’re standing by the window, back to him, when he speaks—voice low, dangerous, like a lit fuse.

“Don’t pretend you’re not glad I’m home.”

You turn, and he’s already on you, crowding you against the glass until your breath catches. His hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who’s in control. “Philip’s birthday,” he scoffs, thumb brushing your pulse. “You’ve been moping about it all night. Bet you touched yourself thinking about how to punish me.”

Your attempt to push him off only makes him grin, teeth sharp. “Cute. Think you can fight? Go ahead. See where it gets you.” He leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “I’ll make you forget all about the cake. All you’ll remember is my name.”